


Warmth

by MinorPoltergeist



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Awkward reader, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, F/M, First Meetings, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Gender-neutral Reader, Loneliness, Mentioned Moira O'Deorain, Mentioned Reaper | Gabriel Reyes, Minor Violence, Multi, One Shot, POV Alternating, POV Second Person, Pre-Relationship, Reader is an anxious mess but they try their best, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive, Widowmaker has nightmares of gerard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-10-14 09:37:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20598626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MinorPoltergeist/pseuds/MinorPoltergeist
Summary: As a quiet new recruit, you had feared the one they called “Widowmaker”. However, you find yourself feeling drawn towards the stoic woman.(Or: How a wandering butterfly began to slowly attract the spider.)





	Warmth

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally was supposed to be an experimental short one-shot that wasn't even going to be that long. Judging from the word-count, y'all already know it got out of hand really quick.
> 
> As I stated before, this was all pretty much made to try and practice writing Widomaker, who I felt was quite hard to nail her "emotionless" personality while making sure I wasn't going too overboard. While she isn't exactly the most cuddly-feely person, she definitely feels like the type to still feel some emotions-albeit very faint. 
> 
> And since I managed to develop some gay feelings for her, y'all already know I had to write this. 
> 
> I wanted to experiment a bit with my writing, too. So my writing style may look a little bit different here than in my other works for those who are familiar with my other fics!
> 
> Hopefully it isn't too OOC, and I hope you guys enjoy it!

The first time the two of you crossed paths, you were just a new recruit for Talon; lost, unsure of what to do with the shattered remnants of your life, and in desperate need of the money. 

You and the other small handful of green-horned grunts stood in a single file in a room cold enough to make goosebumps break out on the bare skin of your arms. A glance to the two recruits encompassing both of your sides was enough to make your stomach clench up. 

Everything about this seemed to scream out that this was a bad idea; the dark metal walls that seemed to slowly close in on you, the stiff, unwelcoming eyes of the other recruits, the heavily armored soldiers blocking the rest of you off from leaving. 

Bile slowly began to rise up into your throat the longer you stood there. Your already weak heart was threatening to collapse as the walls grew closer with each passing second. 

Just as you were ready to vomit out what little breakfast you had, a man with slicked-back hair and a suit worth more than you have ever made in a lifetime entered the room. Grey eyes scanned the young men and women before him and his thin, lizard-like lips stretched into a falsely-welcoming smile.

“Welcome to Talon, children.” 

Meanwhile, the guards at the door quickly parted as another man and a woman followed suit; the other man was dressed not too far off from an old metal album your cousin lent you. 

The thought would have made you crack a smile if he didn’t have shotguns big enough to crack your skull open in his metal clawed hands.

Somehow, you felt like he was glaring at you from under the mask he wore. 

You silently gulp and quickly look over to the slender woman by his side. 

The first thing to immediately stand out was her inhumanely blue skin, causing you to do a double take. You soon found that, despite her odd pigmentation, she was dangerously beautiful; every smooth curve of flesh hiding hints of battle-hardened sinewy muscle.

Overall, she wasn’t too far off from one of those models on the cover of a glossy, high-fashion magazine. Her frame was slender, her waist subtlety pinching inwards to show off pleasantly-curved hips. A glance downward revealed her long legs and you briefly wondered if she was a did ballet in her spare time.

Though you doubted she was the type to welcome talk of her hobbies, judging from the hard stare she gave you and the others.

Then, almost embarrassingly quick, you noticed the deep, v-cut down the front of her suit- and inadvertently stared at the soft, rounded cleavage exposed. 

You inwardly squeak, cheeks bright with shame, as you quickly whip your gaze back up to a safer, less awkward level- Only to make direct eye contact with said woman, who seemed to catch on to your accidental ogling. 

You could already feel a part of your dignity shrivel up and die as she scrutinized you with a look you were unable to read completely. Face on fire, you stare at the wall ahead of you, mouthing a tiny “sorry” in hopes that she would see it and perhaps not murder you the next time she saw you. 

The next thing you knew, you felt a hand as cold as ice grab your face hard enough to cause a stinging pain. 

Grey filled your vision and you found yourself humiliated further on your first day. Turns out, you had accidentally tuned out Mr. Official’s introduction speech, and he was none too happy about it. Even more unfortunate for you, it had turned out the other man and the woman you had stared at like a creep happened to be your superiors.

Cat-like yellow met your eyes once again, and you caught the small huff of a laugh the woman let out at your expense underneath the mocking snickers of the other recruits.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The second time you saw her again, it had been well over a few months in your training. 

You were left largely ignored by the other recruits since day one; the others keeping their interactions with you short and cold most of the time. After you had managed to make a fool of yourself on the first day, it seemed that no one wanted to spend too much time around you. It was likely that they saw you as a liability, or maybe they just didn’t want to hang around what they likely thought was some pervert.

However, you did manage to make a “friend” out of one of your fellow grunts. He only really contributed low grunts or silence to your conversations, but he didn’t seem to mind your presence at all. Though, you couldn’t quite tell if he bothered with you purely out of pity; not that it mattered. You weren’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth- especially one willing to hang around this long.

Tiny miracles aside, life as a Talon trainee proved to be a near hellish experience.

A normal day began at six in the morning, on the dot, forcing you to get used to waking up early to go through a grueling training routine that left you feeling weak. Afterwards, there was a bland meal waiting for you to shovel in just to avoid passing out from exhaustion. 

There was more training, more flavorless food for dinner, and a very brief shower. You would then go to bed, wake up, and repeat the cycle.

It was beginning to wear you down mentally. The constant physical and emotional strain day in and day out was almost enough to make you consider quitting Talon all together.

Almost. 

The money, as well as the free housing they provided, were the main reasons why you bothered to stay. And with those two reasons binding you down to the organization, you felt that your mental well-being began to stagnate.

So, after a few months into your employment at Talon, you decided to find new ways to try and break the monotony of the routine forced upon you. 

Most of said attempts soon turned out to be unsuccessful; Since it turned out that it was much harder to do _ anything _ remotely entertaining without some form of friend circle. Which was something you were a bit lacking in (that one gruff grunt aside).

Soon enough, you found yourself spending time in the shooting range at dusk. Hardly anyone was in there around that time, save for a few grunts here and there. Much like the others, they didn’t pay any attention towards you- only just tolerating your presence.

You make your way onto the grounds one late night, muscles sore and in desperate need of much needed solitude. 

After you have gained approval from the officer behind the front desk and accepted the protective gear he handed you, you found yourself letting out a sigh of relief as you slowly make your way towards the gun rack. 

There wasn’t anyone else around, judging from the lack of gunfire. Nobody around to stare you down like a hawk waiting for its prey to grow weak.

Training had been much more tasking that day- both mentally and physically. The instructor had decided to push your body beyond its limit, going as far as to dig the heel of his boot into the back of your head when you didn’t go deep enough in your push-ups like the others.  
  
Even now, while you looked over the almost comically large selection of guns, you could hear the barely contained laughter of your fellow recruits as the back of your head was practically stomped on. 

You moan pitifully at the memory as you tentatively grab a hold of a sniper rifle and made your way over to the targets. Hand to Hand combat had never been your specialty; hell, you weren’t sure if exercise had ever been a field you were ever particularly good in. 

It was evident in most of your training sessions, no doubt forcing the rift between you and the others even wider. Since your recruitment, it seemed that you were only destined to lag behind the others. 

The cool metal of the gun dug into your palms as your grip tightened. You force in a sharp breath through your nose, quickly blinking away the gathering wetness already threatening to fall. 

You could make yourself useful in other ways. You _ need _ to be useful in some way. 

Crosshairs fill your eye as you lined the gun up, your hands shaking the entire time as you squeezed the trigger tightly. 

A piercing bang filled the air, and you suck in a breath as you slowly backed your head away from the scope. The skin around your eye met cold air as you forced in deep breaths, your heart racing a mile a minute.  
  
You could feel your hands shaking harder as you rubbed at your eye, skin clammy and sticky from cold sweat. The gun laid patiently in your grip as you silently stood there, nothing but the sound of your own nervous breathing filling your ears.

An eternity passes until you’re brave enough to look through the scope again, your hands still trembling the whole time. It took you a bit to make out your target through your unsteady grip, and when you finally did, your stomach sunk at the sight. 

You did manage to hit the target, but only barely. A small hole in the stiff, white outer portion- just barely grazing the shoulder of the solid black figure- was the only proof that you had fired at all. 

Somehow you managed to screw up. It was like training all over again.. You could already see unwavering, hard stare of the instructor as his lips curled into a disgusted sneer; the sight as fresh and new as when it first happened earlier that day.

A heavy, boot-clad heel dug into the back of your skull— no doubt bruising the skin there into a black-ish purple— the man spat out a curt a dismissal. The others, whether it be from lack of concern towards you or maybe because they feared the man just as much as you did (perhaps both), shuffled out without so much as a passing glance towards you.

A phantom pain began to settle in as you stood there, stiff and unmoving save for the gun jostled around by your unsteady grip. You could still feel your face being pressed into the floor, the weight of his boot growing heavier by the second.

Blurry wetness began to well up as your nose began to hurt worse the more he pressed down. It wouldn’t be long before the fragile cartilage would begin to bend back, back, _ back _ until it breaks apart with a sickening _ sna _-

Click.

You freeze up, your hands finally still as a heavy chill settled into your bones; your heart beating in your ears.

Click. Click. Click.

The rhythmic taps of heels on the cold, hard metal floor rang out again, each sharp tap cutting through the air like a knife through flesh. You felt your throat sting as you nervously forced down a breath, almost as if a rock was trapped inside. 

Deep blue moves out of the corner of your eye, and cold metal pressed into your palms harshly. You could feel your hands slowly begin to shake again as you tighten your grip on the gun. 

Someone was in here with you. There were eyes ready to scrutinize you, tear down your being to every single error you’ve committed.

Teeth worried at your bottom lip, and you force yourself to breathe. A heavy weight had formed in your stomach, the pain great enough to make you teary-eyed. 

Click. Click. Click.  
  
Each click grew louder with each step, your stomach sinking further and further the closer they got. You could feel your breath hitch as you slowly turn your head, heart nearly palpitating from nerves.

Not too far off, there she stood: the woman from all those months ago. 

Her focus was drawn away from you, towards the targets you feebly shot at not too long ago. A rifle, one heavily modded and sleeker than the ones the range normally offers, sits in her elegant hands.  
  
She slowly raises the scope to her eye, hands steady and face set in a mask of chilling indifference. For a few moments, the woman silently stood there; unmoving. And soon, a piercing bang tore through the air.

You’d be lying to yourself if you said the noise didn’t make you jump high enough to nearly drop the gun.

Silence settled over the shooting range once again, which gave you plenty of time to calm your racing heart. You can feel eyes burning at the side at the side of your head as you clutched the gun to your chest, and the lump from before comes back. 

Just to prolong acknowledging the elephant in the room- or in this case, the very deadly spider in the room- you raise the scope to your eye; desperately ignoring how warm the range was all of a sudden. 

The sight you were greeted with was enough to rip a gasp from your lips: Far off in the distance, there was a lone target situated high above the others. As far as you were concerned, none of the other recruits had been able to hit it; and yet.. The woman just a few heads away had been able to make a clean shot.

Right in the dead center of the flimsy target’s head.

Before you knew it, you felt the gun slip from your slack grip. It hit the ground with a “clunk”, but you didn’t pay it any mind. You turned towards her and you felt your chest tighten as yellow eyes meet yours.  
  
The words left your mouth before you could think.

“_ Teach me. _”

Her eyes widen for a moment, the mask of indifference cracking. Blue lips gently parted. For a moment, you thought she was going to say something, but as quick it fell, her stoic mask was put back into place.

With her mouth set in a hard line and eyes cold enough to give you frostbite, she gives you a look of disdain before she turned heel and walked away without so much as a word to you.

That night, the resounding clicks of her heels filled your dreams- and that was when you knew you were in for a world of headache and heartaches.

And you hadn’t even known her name yet.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A third encounter came, then a fourth, and then a fifth. It wasn’t long before a strange pattern had formed between the two of you. 

You would quietly make your way towards the shooting range long after training, the sky slowly darkening above the grounds as you grab a gun. Each time, you’d feel your hands shake gently from after-training jitters, but you always force down a breath and soldier on.

With your heartbeat tapping at your rib cage, you firmly plant yourself in a spot mostly out of view; tucked away in the corner to be easily overlooked if anyone else came in. 

In the first few months of your recruitment, the idea would have bothered you. However, after spending much of your time alone, you’ve come to appreciate the peaceful silence it came with. It made practicing your aim much easier without the jeering and ridicule of others.

You would pick out a target and shoot at it periodically- squeezing the trigger with an almost feather-light tentativeness each time. 

As the sky slowly begins to darken with an orange hue and in between the heavy clicking of reloading your gun, you’d hear it. 

It was always faint under the heavy plastic of your ear muffs, but you had come to easily recognize it; the familiar click of heels against the cool metal flooring. Each click would grow louder the closer she got, then they would suddenly stop before you could mentally repeat the rhythmic pattern. 

Before you could even think to glance over, it would happen: The air next to you would explode with the piercing boom of her rifle, and you’d do your damndest to try and calm the stutter of your heart. 

Then, just like clockwork, you’d nervously peek from the corner of your eye to the sight of her. 

The one the other agents called, in hushed- equal parts reverent and fearful- whispers, the _ Widowmaker _ . Her code name, you’ve quickly realized, and never, _ ever _ her actual name. 

She’s been largely...indifferent, since the last encounter you had with her; back when you boldly- more like _ stupidly _\- asked her to train you. You had thought you’ve accidentally driven her away, forcing her to find a new haunt, but there’s a silent, persistent air to her. Almost as if the encounter never happened, Widowmaker always came back at around the same time.

And for the most part, she didn’t really seem to give two shits about you being here. 

Of course, there was always the strange look she’d give you then and there- it didn’t seem to be outright irritation per say, but it wasn’t exactly the most welcoming, either. It felt like she saw you nothing more than a fly- so long as you didn’t bother her, she would leave you alone.

Despite the frosty reception, not to mention how she admittedly scared the shit out of you, you did your best to remain friendly with her. Of course, your efforts were met with mixed results. And you’ve done just about everything every trying-to-be-friendly office worker would do to socialize: 

You’d muster up your most polite and not at all terrified “hello” to her with a weak wave. Widowmaker would normally give you an eye roll in exchange, but recently it has improved to a nod and a non-committal hum. It wasn’t much, but you were grateful nonetheless. 

You weren’t exactly brave enough to ask her about her day just yet, since she isn’t exactly welcoming you with open arms, but could see things slowly getting better from here!

After all those afternoons spent staring through a scope with your bottom lip wedged between your teeth, you can already see the vast improvement in your aim. By no means were you sniper-elite material, but you were good enough to feel the weight of your own self-doubt begin to lighten. At this rate, you may even be able to prove yourself worthy to the other recruits- maybe even prove yourself _ better _than some of them.

The thought is enough to make an embarrassingly eager giggle bubble in your throat. 

Which, at the time, must of slipped out-- because soon you heard Widowmaker let out a chuckle low enough to leave a strange coil in your stomach and heat bloom across warm cheeks. 

It was enough to stay with you for a while. Like now, where you’re in bed staring at the ceiling while the snores of your dorm mate fills the air. You could feel your eyes begin to sting as her chuckle kept rewinding in your head, the alarm clock’s constant flashing “2:45 AM” out of the corner of your eye only adding to your growing headache. 

You haven’t even known this woman for very long; probably more than 4 months at best. Even then, it wasn’t like the two of you were close-knit. For god’s sake the first interaction you had with her you stared at her chest like some pervert! 

_ She wasn’t even that nice to you. _

And yet, here you are: nursing the start of a nerve-wracking infatuation with a woman who wouldn’t hesitate to snap your neck.

Frustration coursing through your veins, you grabbed your pillow and slapped it onto your face before letting out the loudest muffled shriek your tired body could muster. It hardly did anything to help your ever-growing stress and it only made your now partially-asleep dorm mate throw a boot in your direction. 

You let out a yelp as you shot up from bed, only barely dodging a thick, steel-toed boot to the face. It slams against the wall with a loud “_ clang _!” and you flinch, arms reflexively curling around yourself protectively. 

Not even feeling a tiny bit of regret, your disgruntled dorm mate merely growled at you before rolling over to their other side. As quick as they tried to hurt you, their snores soon filled the room again- leaving you wide awake and more than a little jittery. 

Another glance to the clock revealed the flashing “2:55 AM” and you sigh as you rub your temples. Training was to start soon and there was no doubt you were going to be absolutely miserable the entire time. 

You needed to sleep- because at this point, you got to take whatever hours you could squeeze in. After all, the last time you trained without sleep, you nearly dry heaved in front of the others- and you really rather not have a repeat of that again.

With a shaky sigh, you turn over to your sleeping dorm-mate. The way their shoulders slowly rose and fell in an even tempo and, of course, their loud snoring were enough to calm your nerves somewhat. They were generally unpleasant to be around when awake, but thankfully they were a heavy-enough sleeper; which made slipping past the door a cinch.

Talon at day already had a foreboding air to it but at least all the sharply-dressed higher-ups and soldiers walking around was enough to distract you. At night it was a whole other ball game. The halls were always dark and the air is cold enough to leave a chill in your bones. Without anyone else around, every little step, every breath and gasp were amplified a hundred times over. It was almost like the base itself turned into a graveyard.

You squinted as you made your through the dark halls, ink-like darkness periodically broken by faint ceiling lights that only made things slightly more visible. For an organization that’s able to pay their staff handsomely you’d think that they’d be able to afford better lights. 

Thankfully, you already knew where you were going. 

You needed something to calm your nerves. And nothing calms you down like a warm cup of hot chocolate. 

Soon enough one of the smaller break rooms came into your view. However, it seemed that someone was already inside. The lights were already on when you made your inside and your chest clenches at the sight of familiar blue.

Not too far from you on the couch sat Widowmaker, who’s head shot up from her hands towards you. You stopped right in your tracks, tired eyes going wide at the sight before you. 

For someone who usually wore curve-hugging suits that held little to the imagination, you’d think she wouldn’t be able to pull off a pair of sweatpants as well. But good lord you were wrong.

No one should be able to pull grey sweatpants and a simple black tee as well as she did.

The two of you make eye contact and you wince away at the hard stare she gave you. She rolls her eyes after that, crossing her arms silently as she leans into the back of the couch. 

It must have been a very bad time for you to walk in then.

Had you been more awake or less desperate to sleep, you would’ve left like any sane individual. However, your sleep-addled brain couldn’t be bothered to think rationally. You were absolutely hellbent on knocking yourself out with hot chocolate even if it kills you.

Still, you can't help but feel kind of bad that you walked in on something private.

“..Sorry, I’ll be gone in just a bit..” you mumbled as you made your way towards the break rooms’ cabinets and microwave. 

You could hear her huff under the clinks of porcelain mugs being pushing around; maybe even rolling her eyes a bit at your apology. But her next words didn’t seem to hold any real ire in them, albeit they did sound a little bit annoyed.

“Very well. Make it quick.”

Startled (you think this is the first time you ever heard her voice outside of faint, overheard conversations), you nearly dropped the mug you were holding. Shit, she had a _ really _ nice accent. 

_ Good lord don’t be an idiot. Don’t be an idiot. Don’t- _

The mantra was mentally chanted as you opened up the sticky fridge-door for a half-empty carton of milk. No way are you going to humiliate yourself _ again _ in front of her. 

A sharp breath later, you’re glancing at the sleek black microwave in front of you. It wasn’t a stove by any means, but it’ll do for now. 

Pouring the milk and putting back the carton, you dig around the loose coffee packets in the basket above the microwave. It took you a few seconds but you find yourself making a pleased keen when you finally find a cocoa packet; which, conveniently, happened to be from your favorite brand. Not that it had anything on your home-made cocoa, if you say so yourself.

Sparing no time, you quickly set the packet aside and gently place the mug full of milk inside the microwave. Setting it to heat for a minute, you briefly turn your back and leaned against the counter to wait. Then it finally dawns on you.  
  
You’re gonna be stuck in a room with Widowmaker, who you accidentally developed a crush on for a minute. Which normally wouldn’t be bad, but your tired, _ tired _brain thinks that just waiting silently like any sane person would wasn't good enough. Oh no, it came up with something that will surely go well. 

“..Are you okay?” the words slip out before you could stop them, and you mentally scream the entire time. 

Widowmaker, still not moving away from her spot, trains a wary eye on you. Her already crossed arms pressed themselves tighter against her frame. She doesn’t respond to the sudden question, eyes hard like fossilized amber. 

An uncomfortable silence filled the air as the two of you stare each other, the droning of the microwave buzzing in the back of your skull. You can already feel your hands growing clammy the longer you stand there, and it feels as if a lump is lodged in your throat. 

To your surprise, she was the first to break the silence. 

“..I’m fine.” Widowmaker answers slowly, methodically. Her full attention was now on you as an ungloved finger taps against her arm. 

The way she said it feels like she thinks you were planning something. Did she think you were up to no good? 

Not that you were, you assured yourself, suddenly feeling paranoid. 

Wait, was it possible that you were creeping her out right now?

I mean, it’s not like you were the most popular person around the base. Chances are some unpleasant things may have been tossed around in the rumor mill; no doubt spreading beyond just the recruits to the conference rooms above. Oh god, she likely heard them. No, scratch that, she _ definitely _ heard them.

_ Beep! Beep! Beep! _

You let out a strange noise between a shriek and squeak, causing the normally composed woman in front of you to start. Before you could even get a peek at the woman’s expression, you quickly whipped around to take the mug out. 

The milk was hardly warm enough and it definitely needed to spend another minute or two to heat up, but that hardly mattered at this point. You were far more busy trying not to spill the milk while you felt eyes at the back of your head. 

You wanted nothing more than to run back to your dorm and bury yourself under the sheets, and never come out again; as if that would shield you away from how the horribly uncomfortable mess you got yourself in. 

Meanwhile Amélie sat silently on the couch, at a complete loss.  
  
When she first saw you on your first day, she had assumed you would just be another face in the crowd. Just another recruit who’d go home when the pressure became too much or become another name on the long list of casualties. 

Worst case scenario, you’d end up as one of O’Deorain’s little pet projects; poked and prodded at with all sorts of syringes and probes until you were just a hollow shell of your former self.

So to see you again in the shooting range three months later had been...surprising to say the least. Before you came into the picture, Amélie considered the grounds at dusk her make-shift safe haven. 

  
Before so her personal quarters had been her personal sanctum, especially during the first year after killing Gérard. It had provided her with more than enough privacy and silence- both before and after missions. 

Then the calls of Talon’s doctors and scientists came. Soon enough, unwanted memories of a dark holding cell and blinding fluorescent lights over an operating table. That was when the phantom pains in her arms began to occur, a near-constant reminder of what she was now.  
  


What had once been considered her safe space in Talon turned out to be a far more prettier version of the prison they kept her in. Though she was numb emotionally and mentally, Amélie knew that staying there for too long would open up old wounds. 

Even as dull the pain was, she didn’t want to think about how Gérard’s eyes grew dull and lifeless before her.

With the shooting range, there wasn’t much room for dwelling in the past. Just nothing but the cold metal of her gun and shooting at defenseless targets. It was probably the closest thing to therapy she’ll ever get in this place. 

That fateful dusk, she had expected everything to go the same as it usually did. She would enter an empty shooting range, shoot out whatever remnants of emotions she had, and head back to sleep.

So when she heard gunshots on her way in, she had contemplated just turning around and leaving. The other soldiers never interested her, not to mention how most of them viewed her as a “challenge” to simply bed. However, the memories of Gérard were much stronger that day, and she entered out of sheer desperation. 

Then she saw you again. The recruit she had laughed at on the first day. 

Even as far away as she was from you, Amélie could see the way your hands shook the entire time you held the gun. In fact, she could also see the faint outlines of bruises on your arms and the faint bags under your eyes. You were still facing ahead, but you were completely aware that you were no longer alone. 

Perhaps that’s why she moved closer to you than she would’ve anyone else; perhaps it’s because you weren’t a threat to her. Or maybe it was because of pity. 

Whatever it was, it moved Amélie forward. 

Soon after she landed a direct shot, she hears a gun fell to the ground with a harsh clang, and she finds herself locking eyes with you. At that moment, Amélie had felt something as she stared into watery, doe-like eyes. 

“_ Teach me. _” 

Just like that she’s transported back in time; back when Gérard was still alive, back when her entire being hadn’t been numbed to the point of nothingness just yet. In front of her stood a haggard, pallid Amélie -- hair disheveled and unwashed in weeks, dark eyes sunken in. 

She recognized the struggle to survive, and she could feel the pain bleeding through your voice. Desperation had once been her daily companion. 

Without another word, Amélie turned heel and walked out. She could feel your gaze follow her as she retreated, but she could feel the memories and flashbacks rushing in her head so quick that she couldn’t care less. 

That night as she laid to rest, she swore that was the first time her pulse had raced in a long time. And she didn’t like it.

…..After that day, Amélie had tried to ignore your presence. The first few days were easy, and you didn’t talk to her- likely regretting your actions. But then you began to grow bolder: you started trying to be friendly with her. 

She would enter the shooting range and you’d watch her from the corner of your eye. It was incredibly obvious that you were afraid of her; a mouse watching the prowling house-cat in fearful anticipation. Yet for whatever reason, you still pressed forward. 

It had at first started out with glances and nods, topped off with a tiny smile before you went back to practicing your shooting. Then it graduated to actually greeting her with a shaky voice and a wave. 

You never pushed her for conversation. A majority, if not all, of your interactions were brief and should’ve been meaningless to her. The recruit that always greeted her whenever she entered ultimately, the one who tries to be nice whenever they can, should not have mattered to her. 

With Amélie’s luck, however, it seemed that she grew...attached against her wishes. Perhaps it was pity, or maybe it was out of the loneliness that was buried deep inside of her. Whatever it may be, it was enough for her to feel a dull pang in her chest at watching you act so skittish around her.

While the sniper sat lost in thought, you stood in front of the microwave dumbly. The trembling in your hands refused to ease up, even when you laid them down on the counter to mentally count to ten. 

Already you could feel the pressure in your chest begin to grow heavier with each second, and you force yourself to take deep breaths. You were definitely over-reacting and just blowing this whole situation out of proportion, but every nerve and synapse kept screaming at you to panic.

Just as you were about to consider abandoning the lukewarm mug beside you, you suddenly feel a smooth hand grab your shoulder. You jump, just barely holding back a surprised yelp, and you whip your head behind you. 

Blue fills your vision, and a part of you is both mortified and ecstatic as you feel Widowmaker’s front subtly press against your back. Her skin was abnormally cold and her hand left a trail of goosebumps as she reached past you. 

As cold as her skin was, it did little to bother you. Quite the opposite, actually. It didn’t take long for heat to rush through your entire being, a thin sheen of nervous sweat no doubt beginning to form on your forehead.

You wonder if she could hear how hard your heart was beating against your chest, though you were certain that she’s far more aware of the fact that you were blushing hard enough to almost turn purple. 

Whatever the case may be, she remained silent as she picked up the mug next to your still shaky fingers- the chipped paint standing out like a sore thumb against soft, meticulously-manicured hands. Slow and even breaths gently fanned against the shell of your ear, the hair on the back of your neck standing on end.

Loud beeping cuts through the silence, nearly making you jump. You gently shake your head, gathering your wits about you, and you focus in time to see Widowmaker press the “start” button on the microwave. 

Cold flesh soon leaves your back, leaving you oddly empty and somehow colder than before, and you hear her feet pad across metal flooring until she’s back on her previous perch with a loud creak. 

More than a little flustered, confused, and hell, even feeling a little touch-starved, you look over to the woman behind you. She went back to her earlier position, arms-crossed and her gaze avoiding you. However, it appears that she was less tense than before. Well, maybe tense wasn’t the right word. She looked a lot less... frustrated than before. 

Suddenly her eye’s flick over to you, trailing your shaky form with an aloofness that made it hard to read her. Then again, she was always hard to read. Even more so now with the sudden kind act she did. 

Almost as if she knew what you were thinking, she snapped you out of your reverie.

“Don’t waste it.” she said, her tone unexpectedly curt before turning around to face the wall in front of her. 

She didn’t say anything else after that, leaving the both of you surrounded by the droning hum of the microwave behind you.

Was...she chastising you? Had she had known that you were considering making a break for it in the middle of your nervous panic? Were you really that easy to read? 

The microwave stops your train of thought before it could speed down the familiar track of self-deprecation like it always did, and you quickly move to open take out the mug. Even though you could feel the heat bite at the flesh of your palm, it was nothing compared to how fucking _ warm _ you felt right now. 

You feel the packet of hot chocolate crinkle in your hands as you turn yourself over to her. 

“Um..” 

She turns back over to you, her brow slightly raised and eyes betraying a hint of surprise. Oh god, you could feel yourself growing even _ warmer _now.

“Thank you.” you find yourself blushing harder. “Sorry for, uh, the first time, by the way.”

The sniper blinks for a moment, brows furrowed in confusion before it finally hits her. _ Of course you’d apologize for something so little. _

Her huff of laughter is sudden, nearly causing you to jump. You were fairly certain that she would’ve been a lot less...approachable when you finally mustered up the courage to apologize about your first encounter. You thought you were going to be met with anger, or annoyance at best. 

Not whatever this was. Not the sniper’s lowered guard and the ghost of a smile- one that held no trace of malice anywhere- on her lips. Your breath hitches as she leans forward, chin perched on her knuckles.

“You won’t have to worry about me harming you, _ papillion. _” 

Amélie had to cough to cover up her snort when you made a nervous squeak. You were growing more endearing to the normally frigid woman the more flustered you grew. 

It’s been far too long since she felt this...normal, around anyone. She wanted _ more. _

You nervously laugh before you rip open the packet- narrowly avoiding spilling chocolate powder everywhere- and stirred the contents together with a teaspoon. 

A strangely comfortable silence settles over the two of you as metal clinked against ceramic. Now that you had finally managed to bury the hatchet in your mind, it was as if a weight was lifted off your shoulders. 

Dare you even say, but maybe you even earned a new friend? A very pretty friend-

You take out the spoon before you could go down that rabbit hole. 

Warm chocolate hits your tongue, coaxing a sweet groan from your throat. It’s been far too long since you’ve been able to have any sweets around the base, and already you’re brewing up a plan to try and sneak some in when you look at the clock on the wall-

Only to nearly choke on your hot chocolate. It was already nearing 3:10 A.M and you’re hit with the fact that you still have training in a couple of hours. 

Practically throwing the teaspoon into the sink, you begin to chug down the rest of your hot chocolate. 

Behind you on the couch, Amélie watched in mute fascination as you put back your now empty mug in the sink with a gasp. She could see tears begin to form from the pain, but she stayed quiet as you quickly turned towards her.

“Oh, uh, I’ll see you later?” 

She felt her chest grow light at the hopeful look you gave her- almost like an eager puppy. Though it was muted greatly, Amélie felt a tiny thread of happiness at the thought. 

“_ Oui _.” 

Perhaps it was a poor decision, making tiny promises like this. But the large, _ radiant _ smile you gave her was enough to cast the idea away. You make a small noise that makes her chest flutter, and you shoot her a little wave before quickly scuttling back to your room.

That night, Amélie is given a respite from Gérard as she slips into a peaceful sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a while since I wrote anything for Overwatch, so hopefully my characterization wasn't too rusty! If there's anything that you guys feel like that I can work on/improve, please be sure to let me know!
> 
> My tumblr if you guys wanna drop by and say hello: https://love-minor-poltergeist.tumblr.com/


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